


The Angel's Ars Dictaminis

by cloudsgrl



Series: Words Of Angels [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, Spiritual, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsgrl/pseuds/cloudsgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is the Reaper trying to help, or to harm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Angel's Ars Dictaminis

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Angel's Ars Dictaminis
> 
> Author's Note: Once again, the beginning is written by nijunni on deviantart. It's the same introduction I used for the Angel's Fallacy. I recommend reading that one first. I think this will make more sense if you do.
> 
> Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts and its characters are not mine. I took them and placed them as characters in my original story. If you want to read the original, let me know, I'll give you the link.</

**The Book of Sora Called**

 **Origin**

1 The world is divided, a landscape of both beauty and beast. As Angels, we must only walk the steps of those born of sacred hearts. We must stray from the style of the wicked.

2 Reapers are the fading and the forgotten, damned to walk the earth and feared upon by the eyes of the living, damned to harvest life, hearts-all without remorse, and damned to remain as empty souls void of love and compassion with no other possession than a wicked skull.

3 We are not Reapers. We are Angels. We are the saints to lead the future to the Doors to Light, and so must seek guidance from our beloved, wise priests, and the scripts of the Words of Angels.

4 Priests are blessed with a forgiving nature, with strength to resist the darkest seduction, and with wisdom to nurture the gift named Purity. Priests are courageous, with the bestowed task of lighting the path to divinity with the Cross chained to the heart.

5 Never will the two worlds twine as one.

6 Never will the 'hearts' of Reapers be granted the gift of love.

7 _Love will never come to those who have sinned._

Thus saith the Angels.

 **\- End Prologue -**

 **\- Begin story -**

Throughout the town of Hallow Bastion the Words of Angels were well known and respected. Children were raised to know the spells to evoke the Angels for guidance. Alongside the angels were the Reapers, the Fallen Angels. These Angels were once human, people who turned away from their path in Destiny and denied their own existence; doomed to wander the planet, the fallen finding kindred and reaping their souls.

The Words cleared stated there would always be more Reapers than Angels, but in the town of Hallow Bastion, the comment was an understatement. Reapers roamed the streets like groups of teenagers. The legend of Reapers being invisible to mortal eyes was invalid; everyone in Hallow Bastion was subjected to being harvested at a moment's notice.

Very few mortals in the gothic city managed to remain cheerful in such a dismal atmosphere. The Reapers killed many at a time, only leaving enough people to keep the city populated; no one dared to move inside Hallow Bastion, and with the Reapers constant patrol no one dared leave. Mortals were prisoners in Hallow Bastion.

The young bard Demyx was one of the few. He stood on a street corner, playing a guitar, and sung about life, love and how beautiful the world was. Occasionally he'd get coin from random passersby, but very few encouraged his behavior. Singing uplifting songs while standing in one of the most gothic sections of the city (heartless and all) wasn't logical, or entertaining.

Demyx was one of the townspeople the Reapers avoided. He had the kind of personality that somehow immediately angered the supposed emotionless fallen angels. Only through sheer force of will was he not killed.

His favorite place to be, besides his corner at Sixth and Broadway, was the Hallow Bastion Library. The library was within the Duomo, a large ancient cathedral that needed renovation. The music scores and books always managed to entertain the musician.

And a Reaper resided there.

The Reaper was called Zexion by the townspeople, for his hair matched the color of the flower. Zexion didn't speak to mortals, only to his coworkers and even then it was sparingly. The fallen wandered the archives, acting somewhat as a librarian, guiding the curious students and church goers to the books they requested.

Demyx liked to think Zexion thought of him as a friend. Zexion would always be waiting for him at the entrance and would lead him to a table in the back. The Reaper would bring him books, music sheets, and sometimes food for nourishment.

However, it was the letters Zexion would give him that made Demyx happy. The letters revealed more and more about the Reaper, practically informing the mortal that he does feel, that he does have a heart that the Words are lying to the mortals, and that maybe Reapers aren't killing by choice.

But even Demyx realized how overly optimistic his claims are.

The day everything changed however was the day news arrived in Hallow Bastion. Apparently a large group of Priests in the nearby city were killed by the oldest Reaper of all, Roxas. It sent all humans on alert, the Reapers seemed to skip through the streets, cackling.

The letter Demyx received that day was different than usual:

 _Demyx,_

 _I have been ordered by the Fallen Angel Leader Roxas to begin a purging of Hallow Bastion. I don't want you caught in the middle. You are too kind to be killed in such a blood bath. On Thursday, head to the main gates of Hallow Bastion. I'll make sure no Fallens are around, use the time to escape from here. Your purity is undeserving of such a fate._

 _Try not to be seen. Try not to be heard. If any of us find you, there is no chance for escape. Even if I find you, Demyx, I will be unable to defend you._

 _Trust me, and do as I say. I care for you Demyx, I do not want to you get hurt._

In the place of a signature was a hand drawn flower, a Zexion in full bloom.

Demyx took the letter, tucked it in his pocket and darted back home. He couldn't stay in the library, and he couldn't leave a letter for Zexion returning the sentiment. He was fond of Zexion, despite the fact the Fallen Angel was emotionless, heartless. He was a constant, something Demyx could always count on being in the library.

His only hope was to head to Radiant Garden, the city where countless Priests were killed in cold blood. There the Reapers didn't imprison the mortals. There was at least an aspect of freedom.

-.-

The date of purging came quicker than Demyx could handle. He only managed to gather enough food for travel, he didn't pack clothes, he didn't pack his instruments… he was to be a travelling bard with nothing but food.

Hiding the food in a small rucksack, Demyx used his knowledge of the town to evade wandering Reapers. He had to double back a couple of times, but the bard made his way to the gate flawlessly. No Reaper even glanced in his direction.

Eyes widened in shock. The gate to Hallow Bastion was open. Actually open! Demyx stood gaping; the gate never opened in his lifetime, he was raised to believe it was impossible. But there it was, the beautiful, but terrifying (realistically carved heartless did that to him) gate stood open.

No Reapers were in sight. Now was his chance! Demyx sprinted to the gate. If he got past the gate he was safe. The Reapers were confined to cities by decree of Angels, if Demyx could get outside the gate, no Fallen could harm him.

A whish sound flew past his ear, another following as a force knocked into his back and pierced his skin. He dropped to the floor, the rucksack broke open and spilled fruits and vegetables across the ground in an arc. Blood pooled around his form as he tried to gasp for breath. It pierced a lung; he probably didn't have much time.

Something grabbed the arrow and twisted it, shoving it deeper into his lung. Squelching noises somehow made it to his ears as Demyx screamed and writhed in pain. The Reaper (Demyx assumed it was a Reaper) let go of the arrow and lifted his scythe high into the air. With a pain-filled breath, Demyx closed his eyes and waited for the blade to fall.

-.-

Zexion stood over the dead body of Demyx, his hair dancing in the small breeze. He glanced to the right, where fellow Reapers stood, watching his every move. He bent down and retrieved the arrow, ignoring the sound of flesh tearing. He could reuse that.

 **\- End Story -**

Ars dictaminis = The art of writing letters, introduced and taught during the Medieval rhetorical era

Not many letters included... but I couldn't figure out how without making it too boring.


End file.
